Deceptively Complex
by celluloidtears
Summary: Spoiler for season finale.  Chapter 1: A trip into Maura's thoughts.  Chapter 2: A trip into Jane's thoughts.  Chapter 3: Angela's thoughts about the pair.
1. Deceptively Complex

Jane is deceptively complex. Moreover, I find her, at times, terribly confusing. As usual, though, I suspect the confusion stems, mostly, from my own insufficiencies, my difficulty with reading people and understanding the intricacies of human interaction. When Jane joked about me being a cyborg, she had no idea how close to the truth she came. Not the actual truth, of course. Naturally, I am not some kind of machine made up of gears and wires and sparks of electricity… though, the synapse firings in the brain _are_ a type of electricity… Anyhow, I am not a cyborg. I have been called, often, a robot. Again, not in the actual sense of being made of metal and being programmable, but in the sense that my emotions often seem to be robotic. I understand and the label all too well.

I have watched the highs and lows of those around me and envied them. I have longed to feel the quiet desperation of true sadness or the type of unbridled joy that induces tears. I have tried, have yearned for it, but I have only ever been able to reach places slightly below "even keel," as Jane would call it. It is… frustrating, to say the least. Not only that, but it is disheartening. At times, I do feel cold, mechanical, especially in moments I know _should_ induce those emotional extremes but somehow never do for me. Korsak and Frost often poke fun of my overly logical view of life's miracles and defeats. In a way, I suppose it is comical. In my more optimistic moments, even I can bring myself to joke about it. However, the older I get the further and farther between those moments become.

Lately, though, I have begun to feel a strange stirring in what seems to be my solar plexus. It is foreign and a little frightening, but also exhilarating. I can feel the "wall," as one therapist put it – though, naturally, I do not, technically "believe" in psychology – begin to fall, piece by piece. It started with a resounding crack that I swear I could almost hear the day I met Jane. Needless to say, my reputation as the Queen of the Dead preceded me. While, usually, this leads to awkward introductions and stilted conversation with people who cannot seem to stand still or stop fiddling with their hands, with Jane, it meant the opposite. She walked directly up to me at the department Christmas party one year and boldly stated, "Hi. I wanted to meet you." She never explained the statement, but we talked for the better part of an hour before I had to excuse myself, reluctantly, I might add, so I could return home to feed Bass.

The strange part was that when I returned home that night, my usually comfortable sanctuary felt somehow… emptier. That is, of course, not an entirely accurate term, but I have yet to find a better one. I did not understand the feeling at the time, but I soon learned that it had to do with Jane.

After the easy conversation we'd shared, which was unusual for me, I felt compelled to see if a connection did indeed exist or if I had merely been slightly more human that night. So I invited her out for coffee, and she accepted. The appointed day, I arrived slightly early, as always. Jane caught up to me at the door of the café, beaming that reassuring smile of hers, and I was impressed by her punctuality. While I had struggled to find something appropriately casual, an endeavor I'm fairly certain I failed at if her slight smirk as she looked me over was any indication, she wore simple jeans and a fitted t-shirt, her hair haphazardly pulled back into a ponytail. While I usually disapprove of such an apparent lack of concern for one's appearance, on Jane it was, somehow, right. Perhaps it was because Jane herself felt more comfortable dressed this way, but, whatever the reason, I liked it. And felt that proverbial wall begin to tumble.

Work soon got in the way and our next meeting was delayed as a rash of murders, inevitably brought on by the summer heat in Boston, kept us from going out again. In the interim, I began to explore acceptable friendly behavior. I have never had a best friend or, really, even a close friend. My social skill deficiencies saw to it that I, at an early age, stuck to advancing myself professionally at the cost of developing a social life, for which my already questionable social skills suffered.

I tried to observe Jane's cues, but, as I've said, she is deceptively complex. It didn't take long for her to initiate physical contact. I adopted the actions she introduced, and she took that as her cue to progress the contact. Slight touches meant as greetings and goodbyes turned to prolonged contact. Her hand on my shoulder, on my knee, on my back as she ushered me through doors. She exhibited actions typical of men when they are courting a woman or would like to. She pulled out my chair, held doors for me and walked on the street side when we would go to lunch or for coffee. Again, I let her set the parameters of our interactions.

I'm afraid things became even more confusing once we began to spend time together outside of work. I am not entirely sure how women in a close friendship are supposed to act, but I'm fairly certain our friendship falls somewhere outside of the norm. I don't stop her when she cuddles up to me when we watch a movie or when she falls asleep on my shoulder. I don't object to her coming over to my apartment unannounced or staying over, usually requesting I stay in the guestroom with her. I comply. Somehow, there seems to be an agreement between us that we always will stay in the guestroom, as if staying in my room would mean something else. Something I would not object to, a fact I can admit to myself in the quieter moments when Jane is not near me. The same rules do not apply at her apartment, of course, but, then again, she does not have a guestroom.

My confusion grows almost daily. I am increasingly driven to distraction when she stands near to me, nearer than is necessary, it seems. I swear, I can feel the heat in the minimal space between us rise. The way I flush when she stands that near has become noticeable; Jane has questioned me about it. The white lies and half truths I have used to explain it away have taken me to near hyperventilation more times that I care to recount.

Further, she has recently taken to touching my hair, an intimacy I am positive is beyond friendship. She toys with the ends, runs it through her fingers, tucks it behind my ear. She must notice the way I hold my breath as her fingers run along the sensitive skin behind my ears. She must. I know she has seen the way my eyes drift to her lips. She has smiled in return enough times for me to be sure of it. She returns the glances, seeming almost uncertain, tentative. It's the only time I ever see her self-confidence falter, in the times when we are decidedly alone and the tension between us becomes almost palpable. The few times that I have taken it upon myself to "test the waters," as it were, she has hesitated, suddenly unsure of what we are doing. Admittedly, I don't understand it myself. I only know if feels right. Jane seems to be more comfortable when she has control over our interactions, so I usually let her decide how close we sit, how often we touch and how flirtatious our conversations will be. There hardly seems to be a choice, though.

The interactions and moments that increase my heart rate are now too numerous to recollect in their entirety. A few stand out, however. Three, to be precise. The first was such a small action that I'm still not sure whether or not she was cognizant of what she was doing. She certainly did not see how it dismantled me. Metaphorically, of course. It was a Friday. Korsak, Frost, Jane and I had decided to go to a bar on the opposite side of Boston. Korsak had graciously offered to drive so that the rest of us could indulge a little more than usual. Personally, I practice what Jane calls a "one and you're done" approach to social drinking. After sitting and having a rather enjoyable time for a few hours, we decided to call it a night and went back out to the car. Frost sat in the passenger seat, and Jane and I occupied the back seat. She was quiet, especially considering the five beers she'd had in a short time, which would usually make her raucous. However, she sat staring out the window, pondering only she knew what. I initially tried to engage her in conversation, but soon retreated to listening to Korsak and Frost's increasingly easy conversation.

I suddenly felt a slight pressure on my knee and looked down to see Jane's hand, palm up, on my leg, a silent request. As always, I did as she asked, sliding my fingers between her rougher ones, wrapping my hand up in her scarred one. I glanced over at her, but her eyes never left the window. Instead, she softly, steadily held my hand until we reached her apartment building. Without a word, she gave my hand a tender squeeze and then released it, saying her goodbyes over her shoulder as she climbed out of the car. I have never asked her about that night. I have never wanted to.

The second occasion was during one of our now many sleepovers. Jane had fallen asleep first, exhausted from one of her poorly attempted yoga sessions. I had stayed up to read an article in a recent issue of a medical journal, though it had been proving difficult with the warmth radiating from Jane's side of the bed. I lay down on my side to watch the steady rise and fall of her chest, the gentle fluttering of her eyelashes. Just as I was about to admonish myself for once again observing my friend in a manner that could hardly be called platonic, Jane rolled over on her side so she was facing me, her head resting mostly on my pillow.

For a moment I couldn't seem to think, to breathe. Against my better judgment, I reached over and tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear, letting my fingers trace along her jaw line and to her chin. She sighed and rolled over onto her other side. I felt momentarily reprimanded. The thought was soon banished from my head, however, as Jane slid back until her backside rested, from head to toe, along the front of my body. Taken aback, I watched as my arm slid around her waist seemingly of its own volition. She clutched at my hand, drawing it to her chest. I could feel her heart beat strongly against my palm. When she showed no indication of disentangling herself, I decided to, for the first time, release myself from the burden of thought. I cautiously reached behind me to turn off the bed side lamp then turned back into Jane. I tucked my nose into her still slightly damp hair, inhaling deeply. I settled into her and quickly fell into the deepest, quietest sleep I had known until that point. And, for once, Jane did not thrash from the nightmares of Hoyt and the other atrocities of her job that plagued her almost nightly.

When we awoke in the morning to the blaring sound of her alarm, we were still tangled up in each other. After turning off the alarm, Jane turned to me with a contented smile on her face and half-said, half-yawned, "Mm, morning, Maura. That was nice." She grinned at me then slithered out from beneath the covers to go into the kitchen to start breakfast. Though she didn't mention it again, after that night, whenever we sleep in the same bed, we, inevitably, wake up somehow entwined.

The third instance was not too long ago, a week or so before the Accident, as I choose to refer to it. We were at Jane's parents' house for a barbeque. They had invited many of their friends and neighbors. It was somewhat overwhelming, but I find myself somehow more equipped to interact with people with Jane at my side. I had been deep in conversation with Angela about recipes when I noticed Jane standing alone, watching the neighbors' children playing tag in the yard. I excused myself and walked over to her, feeling more "myself," as I was coming to be, with each step I took toward her. Without a word, I slipped myself beneath her arm, wrapping my arms around her waist and laying my ear against her chest, just above her heart. For once, she did not hesitate but rested her arms around my shoulders, pulling me tightly to her. We stood like that for… well, actually, I am not sure how long. Though I know it is entirely impossible, it felt as if time stopped.

We stood there and watched the children play, the sun slowly setting behind the trees that lined the yard. With each beat of Jane's heart I came closer to accepting what I had known since I met her, illogical as it sounds: I am in love with Jane. She is my friend, yes, but, for me, she means so much more. She is, quite simply, without hyperbole, my salvation. She is the person that understands me and accepts me, against all odds. She is my lifeline, my tenuous connection to what is "normal" and human. As we stood there, I came to the realization that, no matter how confusing our friendship is, it was no longer all I felt for Jane. However, if it was all she could offer, I would take it and gladly.

I was granted momentary reprieve from my realization as one of Jane's hands moved down to my arm, absentmindedly rubbing up and down. She rested her head against mine after brushing her lips across my hair line. After a minute or two I pulled back a bit, searching for her eyes. When I found them, they were glassy from unshed tears, and they searched mine almost desperately. I felt one of her hands run along the length of my hair and come to rest on the small of my back. Once again, my eyes drifted to her lips.

"Maura?" My name slipped from her lips, a question and an answer. Just when I was sure my resolve was gone, when I could feel my body beginning to yearn toward her, Angela called for us to come and eat, the quiet shattering around us as the sounds of the summer night rushed back to my consciousness. Jane's face broke into the wide smile I am so accustomed to, and she took my hand, leading me back towards the crowd now gathered around the tables of food.

When we went back to work, we continued with our usual routine and interactions, though somehow they felt more intimate, as if a secret had been exchanged that night.

I do not understand the boundaries of friendship, but I am certain these actions do not fall within them. I do not fully understand Jane Rizzoli, nor why my wall crashes down, bit by bit, when she is near me. I don't know if she feels the same way I do. I don't know how to read her actions. Quite simply, I do not know what she is thinking.

The day Jane shot herself, she was supposed to come over for dinner. I had it all planned. I was going to confront her, ask her questions about friendship. I am not terribly good with emotions, but for Jane, I was going to try. I was going to try to ascertain her intentions, try to understand that night at her parents' house. I needed an answer, one way or another. I knew I could trust Jane to patiently explain it to me, to not make me feel like a robot.

When she wakes up, there will be so much to be done, too much to let my feelings be the topic of conversation. When she wakes up, she will be different. We will be different. I have worn her blood on my dress and skin, have felt its warmth turn cold as it dried. I have watched the color drain from her skin and the life from her eyes. I have screamed her name with a fear and desperation I envied others for before. It is unpleasant. I know longing and love so powerful it hurts, somehow. I understand what it is to truly feel helpless, as Jane must have felt when my biological father took me.

In almost losing her, I understand her better than I would have had she been able to explain it to me. I hope I have the opportunity to explain that to her.

In the meantime, I, knowingly, embrace my natural, robotic ways. I know too well that the machines that are keeping Jane alive right now are keeping me alive, too.


	2. Deceptively Easy

**Hello, all! I can't believe how many (really too) kind reviews I got on the last piece. A number of you wanted to see something from Jane's POV, so I've given it a shot here. I can safely say I do not understand her half as well as I do Maura, but I hope this is at least somewhat accurate, tone-wise. Again, thank you so much for reading and reviewing! It was just the morale boost I've needed lately. :)**

**I probably should have said it last time and didn't, but the characters of Maura and Jane, of course, do not belong to me. That privilege belongs to others far luckier than I.**

Maura Isles is infuriating. Infuriatingly smart, infuriatingly logical and literal… infuriatingly beautiful. Until Maura, I'd never met someone who could piss me off and look like an angel doing it. No one on this Earth knows how to push my buttons like she does. The thing that is most infuriating about her, though, is how much I love her. I can say it now. Let me tell you, it wasn't always this easy. Now, though… Anyway, I love her. That's the point.

Before Maura, I sort of just felt like I was existing, not really living. Sure, I've got a great job that I love and my family and all that, but there was that part of me that just felt a little… empty. Like when you're about to finish a puzzle but find out that one of the pieces is missing. And you hunt and hunt all over for that piece, but it's not under the couch, and it's not still in the box, it's just not there. Was never there. That's kinda how I felt. I had a pretty good idea what was missing. Even if I didn't, Ma sure pointed it out enough times. So many times that she started to get tired of saying anything. You know it's bad when even your Italian mother stops harassing you about being single. It never really bothered me, the being alone. Well, that's not true. Once every few months there'd be a night where I 'd just kind of curl up in bed and… hurt. Actually, it wasn't that I was alone; how could I be with family and friends that love me so much? But I was definitely, painfully lonely.

But, when I met Maura, that space started to slowly fill up. Or maybe it closed up. Either way, I didn't feel quite so lonely anymore. I didn't really have a reason to. When I met Maura, I felt like I had finally met someone that really got me, you know? Someone that knew where I was coming from or, if they didn't, would really try to figure it out. And Maura, well, she likes to understand things, so needless to say whatever she doesn't get she works hard to figure out. I didn't really get a chance to consider how important Maura was to me before she just _was_. I remember the day I introduced myself to Maura very clearly. It was a department party of some kind, though I don't really remember which one, and Maura was standing sort of by herself, looking adorably awkward even as I watched her charm person after person before she, inevitably, accidentally drove them off, most likely by going Wikipedia on them. I'd heard a lot about her, obviously. The Queen of the Dead was something of a legend. No ME does better work than Maura and certainly none look as good as she does hunched over a corpse. The guys never ran out of comments about her hair, her body, her legs. I had to admit, looking at her, they were all right, no matter how inappropriate they were.

Well, she was standing there, daintily sipping out of her wine glass while carefully observing the interactions all around her, so I decided to talk to her. She seemed surprised when I approached her, but she relaxed quickly enough. As it turned out, not only was she brilliant and beautiful, but she also was warm and funny and completely adorable. By the time she excused herself, I knew I wanted to get to know her better. I was in a strangely good mood when I left the party and, at the time, I chalked it up to the punch I'd been drinking. I know better now. I'm in that warm, happy place often enough these days to know it has to do with Maura.

Maura asked me to coffee not too long after that, and I was more than happy to go. On the way there, I was weirdly nervous. I think I knew then, somehow, that Maura was going to be important to me. I won't try to claim I knew I was in love with her or anything like that, but I knew I wanted to spend time with her. She showed up runway ready, as always. I applauded myself just for making it on time. Knowing she'd prepared for this casual coffee date made me smile, for whatever reason. I find her often failed attempts to be "normal" endearing. I'm not completely sure how Maura ended up the way she did, but I'm grateful for it. It's so easy to be regular. Maura's something special, though I don't think she sees it that way. I just wish she understood how uniquely amazing she is 'cause I know she has no idea. Maybe I need to tell her more often. Anyway, that day at the coffee shop, that's where it started. She was a little awkward and overly formal until we got beyond the small talk, but she managed to keep her encyclopedic brain more or less in check. Three hours went by with us barely noticing it passing.

Once things quieted down at work, we started spending more time together. I soon figured out that, if I wanted to see Maura, I needed to come up with the plan. She didn't really seem to know how to initiate anything. More likely, though, I suppose is that she probably just didn't really know how to start a friendship. Despite how wonderful she is, Maura isn't exactly someone people seem to make a connection with. Honestly, I just don't think they really give her the chance. Even Frost and Korsak have come around and genuinely like Doctor Death, as they insist on calling her. My family loves her. I think people just don't stick around long enough to get to the good stuff. Underneath all the medical speak and random facts, Maura's pretty much the best human out there… no matter how much I tease her about being a cyborg.

In fact, for all I'd heard about her, I found Maura easy to get. Where other people are put off by her precision and scrutiny, I know it's Maura's way to, in some small way, control her world. Life is chaos, and Maura is uncomfortable with the unknown. She prefers to consider and research and give an accurate answer. I love her honesty and straight forwardness, though, again, it is one of the things others don't like about her. With Maura, what you see is what you get, no questions asked. I love that about her. She's deceptively easy. People are just too used to ulterior motives and half-truths. With Maura, it's all right there on the table.

I suppose that's part of what scares me about her, too. Her honesty makes her vulnerable, almost delicate. I know Maura may not be emotional about as many things as most people, but what she feels and reacts to she feels and reacts to more than any of us can imagine. She's got a thick skin, but I've seen her when things get through, and it's heartbreaking. At the same time, when she gets like that, there's not anything to be done but be there for her. There've been times when she couldn't even say what it was that hurt her; all she could do was curl up into my side and wait out the pain. In those times, she becomes childlike and much more accepting of physical closeness than she usually is.

Not to say that Maura isn't usually affectionate because she is. Despite what people think of her, I know Maura craves that closeness. I've never been as physically intimate with someone as I am with Maura. I mean, sex, yeah, but that's not real intimacy. Not the way I've known it, anyway. That's been more about desire, lust, release, that sort of thing. With Maura, it's about affection and caring and, yes, love. With Maura, it's a connection, a need to be assured that we're not alone. As much as she needs that assurance, I know I seek it more often than she does. I think that's partially because Maura's never had a best friend before. The other part, I'm sure, is because she's more comfortable with other people setting up boundaries. I admit, too, that the few times she's taken a lead, I've jumped or hesitated. I can't help it. I could give a shit about what everything else thinks about me… except Maura. I just don't want to screw it up. She's too important to me, and I don't trust myself not to run.

There are days, too, when I don't trust myself to stay. Sometimes it feels like I'm taking advantage of Maura somehow by pushing the boundaries to what I want us to have instead of to what a friendship that's just a friendship should be. She lets me. She seems to enjoy it. I know she does. For every casual contact I make with her, she makes one in return. And it encourages me to keep touching when I want to, to stand closer to her than I should, to look at her just a little bit longer than I ought to. She notices. She doesn't mind. That's probably a good thing since I can't help myself. Maura's hair begs for me to play with it. Something about the way she smells and feels when she settles into me forces me to sit too close. Her slight head tilts and decidedly flirtatious smiles egg me on when conversations get to be a little bit too… friendly. But I don't really have a choice in the matter; something about Maura compels me to get closer.

I've always been really adamant about keeping my personal bubble clear of other people. Around Maura, though, that bubble is pretty non-existent. It doesn't matter whether she moves or I do, but, somehow, we always end up standing a little bit too close. Sometimes, even though I know Maura would tell me it's impossible, I'm worried she'll hear the way standing that close to her makes my heart hammer in my chest. I could swear, too, that I've noticed a slight blush rise up her neck and into her cheeks. She also tends to find something interesting in the vicinity of my lips. I want to believe, so completely, that she might feel the way I do, but what could someone with Maura's background see in me? Looking at us on paper, I'm so sure that I could never be enough for her; somehow, though, Maura makes me feel like I'm all she'd need.

She does it in such simple ways, too. All it takes is a word, one little gesture, and I'm so happy and content I could burst. There was this one time when we were waiting for Frankie and Frost to pick us up at the door of a restaurant the four of us had gone to. It had started to sleet while we were eating and we'd parked kind of far away, so the boys had very chivalrously offered to go and get the car while Maura and I waited under the awning. It was bone chillingly cold in a way only Boston can get and, of course, Maura's coat was more appropriate for a night in than camping out underneath an overhang. Her shivering voice broke the comfortable silence that had fallen over us.

"That's it. I need you closer."

Without another word exchanged, I opened up my long coat, slipped my arms out of the sleeves, and wrapped it around us. Maura pulled the edges around her body as I slipped my arms snuggly around her waist. She stopped shivering soon enough and settled back into me. As I rested my chin on her shoulder, she leaned her head against mine, her cheek cold and smooth where it touched mine. One of her hands came down to rest over where mine rested on her stomach, and she sighed softly in such a way that I knew she was speaking for both of us. To my disappointment, the boys pulled up far too soon, and Maura began to disentangle herself from our cocoon. As she did, though, she turned and gave me one of those smiles, the ones I know are meant only for me. The ones I'm still trying to decipher. I didn't dare ask Maura about it later because, if it didn't mean anything, I didn't really want to know. It was nicer to just keep believing it was all deliberate.

Then there was this other incident one time when Maura and I went to the opera. Now, opera is not exactly my kind of thing, but Maura loves it, so, for her birthday, I got two tickets for us to go see _La Traviata_. I don't know much about operas, but I'd heard of that one, so I figured it was a safe bet. Anyway, we decided to really go all out, which, in this case, meant that the night ended up looking suspiciously like a date. I hardly was in a position to argue, so I went with it. I put on the black dress Ma and I had bought, some heels, spent time putting my hair up and fixing my face. I even managed to get my things into a small, dress appropriate purse. Yes, I left my badge and gun at home. For the finishing touch, I dug out a bottle of perfume I've had forever that I only wear on really, _really_ special occasions. I spritzed a cloud of it in the air, walked through it, put on my coat and went to go pick up Maura.

She got into the car, beaming and excited, almost giddy. She was wearing a coat, so I didn't see what she was wearing until we got to the restaurant we were catching a before show bite at. I helped her off with her coat and when I turned back from handing it over to the person behind the coat check counter I just… stopped. To say Maura looked stunning would be the understatement of the century. Maura is about the most beautiful person on the planet any day of the week, but that night… there still aren't words. She wore a white, sort of gauzey dress that knew just when to drape and where to cling. It clung in such a way that I knew just how much was underneath the dress, and I knew it wasn't much. Her makeup was perfect, as always, and her hair was sort of half pulled back. She looked so angelic that I probably would have fallen to my knees and worshipped her if she asked, all the while punishing myself for the kind of thoughts I couldn't seem to help having. She flushed slightly beneath my gaze, a slight smile creeping onto her face as she reached for my hand when the hostess moved to seat us. Dinner went about as it always did, that is to say with comfortable conversation, a lot of laughing, and a few too many stolen glances. Something felt different, though. Her smile was a little different, the way she touched my hand when she wanted my attention was… different. Good different. Better different.

It became especially hard that night to keep my hands off of her, her looking the way she did. I was actually grateful when the lights went down at the opera house and the show started. It gave me something else to focus on. We stayed in our seats during intermission, relatively quiet, observing the other patrons and making side comments to each other every once and a while. The second half started, and, I have to admit, it was turning out to be a lot less painful than I thought it would be. About halfway through, though, I felt Maura get very still. I turned to look at her and noticed that she was crying. Not crying the way she had when I didn't want to take my shirt off at the marathon, but big, silent sobs complete with tears running freely down her cheeks. I reached over and took her hand, and she quickly interlaced her fingers with mine, turning to look at me with those big, wet eyes of hers. It wasn't just a look, though; it felt like she dove into me. I couldn't look away, and with the opera music in the background, I suddenly knew I wasn't just in love with Maura, she was my salvation. Is my salvation. I reached over and gently wiped the tears from her cheeks, and she smiled and seemed to lean a little into my touch. I turned back to the stage. Maura leaned into me, resting her forehead against the side of my head.

"Jane," she breathed. "Thank you." Somehow, I knew she didn't mean for the tickets or the dinner or any of that. Somehow, I knew she meant more than that, though, again, I'm not about to start assuming just what it all meant. I only knew that, in that moment, I thought I might die from happiness. I felt a tear start in my left eye, but I quickly fought it back and silently nodded instead. She gently kissed my cheek then turned back to the stage. In all, the sum of her actions weren't much. But, to me, they meant everything.

All this sort of came to head recently at my parents' house. They were having a barbeque for the neighborhood and friends and stuff, and I brought Maura along with me, as I've taken to doing every time we have a family function. I had wandered off to watch the neighborhood kids play. I envied them, really, their innocence and naiveté about how cruel a place the world can be. I stroked the scars on my hands and thought about Hoyt and the horrors I'd seen. And then, I thought of Maura. Maura who had come to stand for everything that was good and right with my life. Maura who was there without question to comfort me when the nightmares came in the middle of the night. Maura who knew exactly when to talk and when to just be there for me. Maura, who I now know I want to spend my life with, even if it's just as a friend. I watched the kids play and wondered what our kids would be like, if they'd be little Mauras or little Janes or somewhere in the middle. I wondered what it would be like to come home to Maura everyday instead of having to make the opportunity to do so. I wondered what Maura would look like when she was old, if she'd be grey haired or if it would stay the indescribable color it is now. It pained me to think how many of those greys would be my fault.

I felt Maura approaching before I saw her. She slipped herself comfortably under my arm and rested her head on my chest. I draped my arms around her shoulders and just absorbed the feeling of her being there with me in the dying summer light. I couldn't helped but think about how someday, more likely than not, someone would take my place in Maura's arms. Some man would eventually come who could give her the things she deserves, who could probably protect her. Me, I only seemed to get her into trouble. I've never heard of an ME being held hostage multiple times in a year, and she'd already been held once and been kidnapped by her sperm donor daddy. I knew then that I would do whatever it took to protect Maura, and if that meant watching her walk down the aisle and grow old with someone else, I would do it. Whatever it took, I would do it.

The thought of giving up what I'd made with her chilled me, and I began rubbing her arms as if it might seep into her somehow. She leaned back to look at me, the same look she gave me that night at the opera. I touched her hair, running my finger through it and down her back until they came to rest on the small of her back. Her eyes slid from mine and to my lips and, suddenly, I needed the answer. I needed to know if I was going to have to steel myself against losing her or if I stood a chance.

"Maura?" Her name slid from my lips before I knew it was even there. I saw something in her crack, and I made the decision to try, to kiss her. What would be the harm? There was no risk. Even if it was a wrong instinct, we would talk it out, and it would be ok. Just as I started to lean toward her, my mother called for us to come and eat. Her eyes came back to mine, and I smiled. Another time. Soon. I took her hand and led her back to the loud, hungry crowd of Italians teeming around the tables of food.

Everything about Maura is easy to understand, once you have the information. And yet, somehow, I'm the only one that she lets in all the way, the only one that seems to get her. It's mutual. With Maura, I finally feel like someone gets me. Not that I'm the hardest person in the world to understand, of course, but she seems to see past what everyone else sees and down to the parts of me where I put my fear and uncertainty. My insecurities. She makes me feel like they're alright, like their valid and not stupid and girly or something. She sees them and accepts them and accepts _me_ in spite of them. More than that, Maura has this way of making me feel like the special one even though, of the two of us, she's the one with the scary big brain. Ok, not actually any bigger than anyone else's, but still. And she thinks I never listen. Anyway, there are times when she's looking at me like I'm the only one in the room, the only one that matters. Where Grant or Dean make me feel attractive or give me butterflies sometimes, Maura can warm me from the inside out and make me feel safe. No small feat, to be sure. When I'm with Maura, I know everything's going to be ok, no matter how bad it gets.

And right now, I know it's bad. The worst it's ever been. Even though that's the case, I feel better knowing she's here. If I couldn't feel her next to me now, I would be much more worried about the situation we're in. I'm in.

If I can get myself out of this mess, I'm going to bring it up. I'm going to talk to her. Because I need to know. I need to know if Maura and I have a future that goes beyond friendship or if we're just going to be best friends. Whichever it is, I feel blessed to have someone as incredible as Maura by my side. Because, no matter what, when Maura came into my life, I finally found that last piece of the puzzle.

Laying here, unable to see or talk to Maura, I suddenly know how important seeing and talking to Maura are to me and that I can't go another minute without telling her what she means to me.

Until I can manage that, though, all I can do it lay here and fight. Fight for Maura, for what I feel for her, which, somehow, means fighting for myself. Because, without Maura, there is no me.


	3. An Outside Observer

**Once again, thank you so much for your absurdly sweet and wonderful reviews. They all mean so much to me, and I really can't thank you enough. **

**This round, you're getting Angela's POV. I'm pretty sure that this is the last of this type of post I'll be doing for this story, but I'm considering (just considering right now!) continuing it as a regular story, if that's something that might interest you fair, lovely readers. :)**

**As always, the incomparable Misses Isles and Rizzoli do not belong to me. Tragic, really.**

All any parent really wants is for their children to lead full, happy lives. Maybe we don't always express that in the most productive way, but whatever we do stems from that desire. I harass Janie a lot, about her job and finding someone to take care of her, but it's only because I worry. Frankie will find some nice girl, I know that. Janie, though, well… she's tough. And sometimes her tough exterior and, let's be honest, her pride push people away. But not Maura.

Maura's the first real female friend Jane's ever had. She was always a tomboy growing up and preferred playing baseball with the boys or working on cars with her father to playing dress up or house with the other little girls. In some ways, it was better to do that, for a girl like her. Boys are simpler, kinder. So long as you can throw and hit the ball as well as they do, they don't much care who you are. Girls are crueler. With the boys, though, Jane learned to be touch and confident. Basically, it ended up being like boot camp for her time on the force.

My Janie is a successful woman, and I'm proud of her. She's gone places and done things no woman has in Boston. At the same time, knowing how much she's been exposed to scares me. The blood, the death. I don't know how she handles it. To be honest, she didn't always handle it as well as she does now. In the beginning, there were a lot of nights she'd show up at our door unexpectedly and end up staying over. It tapered off, but there would, ever so often, be a case that shook her and back home she'd come. After Hoyt, she didn't bother going home at all for weeks. Not that we ever minded. That habit of hers has pretty much disappeared since she started spending time with Maura. I get the feeling Jane shows up at a different door when she's upset now. Or maybe someone comes to hers. Either way.

Maura's been something of a godsend for Jane, I think. I used to worry Jane would toughen up to a point where she would become impenetrable to the good things in life as well as the bad. When she met Maura, though, she started to come back. She started spending more time with Frankie and started coming around more, oftener and oftener with Maura in tow. Some of the lines that had started to linger on her face began to fade a little. The hardness around her eyes softened, and she definitely started smiling more.

Jane is different with Maura than she is with other people. She was never one for displays of affection. Not until she met Maura, anyway, and the way she goes about it is almost protective. She rests her arm along the back of Maura's chair when we're sitting at the dinner table or puts her hand on Maura's back to guide her through doorways. I've noticed, too, that whenever we sit down to watch something, whether it's a Sox game or a movie, the girls seem to seize the opportunity, given the right excuse, to get closer. Frank sits in his lazy boy, while I usually float between the arm of his chair and the kitchen. The kids always camp out on the couch, with Jane in the middle. At some point, Jane rests her arm along the back of the couch behind Maura. Maura will automatically settle into Jane, and the two of them shift until they're comfortable, often with Maura's head on Jane's shoulder and Jane's arm draped over Maura's shoulder. It's happened every time we've all watched something with no exception. Sometimes the dance those girls are doing frustrates _me_. I can't imagine how they feel. Maura's much more patient than Jane. I get the feeling she's actually content, for now, with where they are. Jane, though, is impatient, and when she knows what she wants, she doesn't like waiting. She must be fit to burst.

On top of that, Jane's always sure to never stray too far from Maura whenever there are a lot of people around. God love Maura, but people make her skittish. I don't know how that poor child grew up, but it couldn't have been with much love around her. Jane may complain about me nosing in her life, but no one could ever say we neglected her or any of our kids. We were there as much as we could be while trying to work enough to provide for our family. It wasn't always easy , but we managed. And, boy, did we have fun, even when we were barely scraping by. It's clear to me Maura didn't have that. She may have had fancy boarding schools and moved in Boston's better circles, but she didn't know love or attention like Jane did. We do our best to make up for it.

We welcomed Maura into our family without hesitation. She seemed unsure at first, but with the way she looks at Jane, I knew she'd calm down soon enough. We worked hard to include her in all our traditions and family gatherings. She stayed close to Jane, always within arm's reach. Eventually, though, she started joining me in the kitchen to help with dinner or the dishes. Sometimes while we were waiting for things to cook, she'd drift to the door, glass of wine in hand, and watch Jane as she slowly sipped. A smile would sort of creep across her lips, and she'd seem to drift away. I don't know what she was thinking about, how could I with that big brain of hers and all, but I knew it had to do with Jane. And I knew my Janie was lucky to have someone who loves her as much as Maura does.

Oh, it's not like either one of them has said anything solid. I don't even think they've told each other. Somehow, though, I think they know it as well as I do. I hope they do. It would be such a shame for two people who love each other so much to miss out because they haven't said anything, not to mention it would be a colossal waste. In a world so full of hatred, we need to grasp onto every bit of love we can. But how could they not know? Even Jane isn't dense enough to miss the way Maura touches her or how often, like she's always making sure Jane's still there. And how she looks at her… Frank used to look at me like that. Still does, actually. But with Maura, there's something more there, too, like she can't believe how lucky she is, like a kid at Christmas, but not once a year, every day. Jane's really no better. The admiration and outright love that sort of flows out of her when she looks at Maura? It warms my heart. It gives me hope.

I admit, when I first started noticing the way they interact, I was a little worried. After all, it meant Jane wouldn't find a man, wouldn't have kids. I realized soon enough that was silly. All that really matters is that she has someone who loves her and will be there for her to chase the nightmares away. Maura already does both. And, honestly, what mother doesn't want her daughter to end up with a rich doctor?

The only thing I really worry about is Jane. I trust Maura not to go anywhere. She's worked too hard to get to where she is with us to leave it all behind. Besides, we're her family. But Jane has a way of getting scared and when she does, she withdraws. I'm afraid Maura will take Jane's retreat as a sign she's done something wrong. If she can hold tight enough to Jane, though, and follow her when she tries to go, they should be just fine. More than, really. But something tells me that this time might be different, that maybe this time Jane won't run. I can tell she's been struggling with something big, and my best bet is that it has to do with Maura.

The things my Janie will go through for that girl never cease to amaze me. I love Jane, but she's never been the most giving person on the planet. She's busy, I understand that. But for Maura, Jane's willing to even make time to do things she's always hated. Run a marathon? Go to yoga? Jane never would have done either if Maura hadn't asked. All Maura needs to do is turn to Jane with a question on her lips, and Jane's already saying yes.

Take the time they went to the opera, for instance. Apparently, Maura had been trying to get Jane to the theatre for some time, and Jane had, for once, been dragging her feet. Finally, for Maura's birthday, Jane got them tickets. We were having a party at our house for Maura, so we all got to see the way she lit up when she opened them. She threw herself into Jane's arms and kissed her repeatedly on the cheek. I never knew Jane could turn that color of red.

A few days before the big date – because, let's be honest, that's what it was – Jane came over in a positive tizzy. She didn't know what to wear or how to do her hair or… well, she was ranting, so I don't really remember the rest. I waited it out then took her upstairs to give her some pointers. She watched intently so she'd remember how to do it. It was the first time she let me touch her hair since she was about six, and I loved every minute of it. We talked about her wardrobe, picked out a restaurant, the whole deal. By the time she left, she was much calmer than she'd been when she came over. There was something childlike about her concern for making the night special, like she couldn't bear for it to be anything other than the best night either of them had known. I knew then, helping Jane and seeing how determined she was to make it flawless, that, if they let themselves, those girls would have many, many more 'best night evers'… I hope they still might. Lord knows they deserve that chance.

Not long before all of… this, we had a big party at our house. I'd been talking to Maura, trying to hold up a conversation with her even though her eyes kept following Jane. Suddenly, she sort of slid away and went over to Jane. Even though I'd seen them be affectionate before, I was surprised to see how easily Maura stepped into Jane's arms and how openly Jane welcomed her. They stood like that, holding each other, for a long time. I'd never seen Jane let anyone hold her like that, never seen her let anyone get that close. I hurried to wipe the tears from my eyes before anyone noticed them. I turned to talk to Frank then yelled to the girls to come and eat. When I turned back, I saw that they had gotten much closer and were holding each other in a much more intimate way, and I knew I'd stopped something that was a long time coming. Luckily, Jane was too high on Maura to be too angry with me. That moment when I realized what I'd stopped has been on repeat in my head lately. I worry Janie won't get her chance to kiss the girl and know what it is for a kiss to really mean something. Add it to the very long list of reasons I hope my baby wakes up and is still herself when she does.

If Jane doesn't wake up, a part of me will… go with her. I don't want to say the d- word. It will make the possibility too real. No parent should have to outlive their child. No parent should have to see their child like this, laid out, hooked up to machines and IVs. And there's nothing I can do about it. Even so, I hurt more for Maura than I do for myself. If something happens to Jane, I know Maura'll leave us and, most likely, leave herself, somehow.

Maura has practically never left Jane's side since they brought her in except to run home and pack a bag. I know Korsak is taking care of Bass, and we've got Jo Friday with us. Maura sits in that chair beside Jane's bed, waiting. Every morning she goes into the bathroom in Jane's room and cleans up. The clothes she's been wearing, though, look suspiciously like the ones Jane changes into when she comes home after a long day or on her days off. Maura sits there, a closed book in her lap, watching Jane. A couple of times I've convinced her to go for a walk around the floor with me. She's stayed silent the whole time and quickly returns to her chair when we get back. She looks so lost, and my heart breaks for her every day. Through her connections, she got all of us permission to come and go when we want. Maura does neither. She just waits.

The fear in her eyes scares me almost more than seeing my Janie lying there. I know Jane's a fighter, and she has so much good left to do. She'll fight for that. She'll fight for Maura. I just hope she does it quickly. I don't know how much longer Maura will be able to keep waiting before she's just… gone.


End file.
